


we're made to love but you're dangerous

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, undercover porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bruce follows his lead, even when Jason doesn’t quite know where he’s going with it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're made to love but you're dangerous

Tonight Bruce is supposed to be some low-hanging gangster wannabe, finally getting a meeting with one of the higher-ups to see if they think he’s worthy of peddling their particular poison. Jason gets to tag along as his runner, his lookout, his _errand boy_ , and well, he thinks that’s kind of bullshit, but he guesses he gets it. He’s too young to be taken seriously as another dealer just yet and Bruce was even anxious to let him come along in this capacity but Jason assured him he knew how these things worked, how the really serious thugs always had some tweaked out junkie or some down on his luck kid chasing their heels, practically begging to do whatever they wanted for a couple of bucks. 

He’s just supposed to hang out in the bar keeping lookout while Bruce meets with the ringleaders in the back. It’s the kind of place where he can order a beer and the bartender won’t even glance at him twice, just pass the glass over and take his money. Jason doesn’t drink it, can’t stand the taste, really, but it’s just for show anyway. He kicks his legs up onto the stool across from him and dead-eyes anyone who tries to sit next to him, cleaning out the dirt from beneath his nails while he waits, whistling some jingle from a commercial he heard on tv before they headed out tonight. 

After about an hour Jason gets a little bored and a little worried, but mostly just bored. His ass hurts from sitting on that fucking stool for so long and no one even tried to fight him _once_ \-- what kind of dive is this? He knows Bruce is going to seriously chew him out for it later, but Jason pops a couple of peanuts in his mouth and hops down from the stool, waits until the bartender is busy with a couple of busty redheads, then slips into the back. 

Sure, it’s a little dangerous. He could probably get his head blown off just strolling into a room full of gangsters and drug dealers, but the thing is, Jason’s got years of experience of dealing with these pricks and well, maybe they pull a few guns on him. He could use the excitement. 

Lucky for him that’s exactly what happens as soon as he pushes the door open, right after he fucks his hair up a little and grinds his knuckles into his eyes for a few minutes, getting them good and red. 

“There you are,” he grins, loose and a little crooked, pretending like he doesn’t notice the fire power pointed at the back of his head as he stumbles over his own feet and makes his way across the room into Bruce’s lap, throwing his arms around his neck. 

Bruce -- because Bruce is _perfect_ , doesn’t break character, not even one flinch of a jaw or twitch of an eyebrow. Bruce follows his lead, even when Jason doesn’t quite know where he’s going with it, just laughs too loud and throaty, slides his hand up high on Jason’s thigh.

“Don’t mind this one,” Bruce says, dragging one ringed-knuckle down the column of Jason’s spine, making him shiver. “Tweaked out of his pretty little head, ain’t you, sweetheart?”

Jason’s doesn’t say anything, just squirms in Bruce’s lap and mouths at his throat, tongues the silvery scar that goes from his ear down to his adam’s apple. 

“Now, as we was saying,” Bruce says and Jason -- it’s dumb that _that_ gets him so hard, but what can you do? There’s just something about Bruce, about knowing how educated and cultured and fuckiing _amazing_ he is, how he admonishes Jason for cursing and wearing his shoes in the house -- there’s something about seeing him in ragged clothes and a second hand leather jacket with his hair all greasy and some cheap, fake gold chain around his neck just _butchering_ the english language that makes Jason _crazy_ , makes him want to wrap his legs around him and see just how rough and dirty Bruce can get. 

Slowly, Jason hears the rest of the goons put their guns away and sit back down in their chairs and he grins smugly into Bruce’s shoulder. He _knew_ this was a good idea.

They talk about -- honestly, Jason has no idea what they’re talking about, he’s too busy tasting the salt on Bruce’s throat, feeling Bruce’s hand squeeze hard on his thigh when he puts his tongue in his ear. He squirms and licks, gets his hand under Bruce’s shirt as he sweet talks the scumbags into telling him who their supplier is and it just gets Jason _harder_ , makes him wish Bruce would just spread him out over the table and fuck him right here, right in front of everybody. 

Jason shudders all over at the thought and feels Bruce’s hand squeeze his thigh again, move up until it’s between his legs, the heel of his hand pressing against Jason’s dick. He keeps it right where it is, no higher, no more pressure, and it drives Jason _wild_ , tries to shift to rub himself off against Jason’s hand but Bruce squeezes his wrist with his other hand as a warning, so Jason tries to be still.

The next thing Jason’s aware of Bruce is spilling him out of his lap, but immediately slipping his arm around his waist, tugging Jason to his side as he shakes hands with one of the men who pointed at a gun at Jason earlier, confirming their next meet-up time that Jason knows isn’t going to happen, not with the intel they just got. 

“See ya, fellas,” Bruce says in that heavy, Jersey slash Boston accent he came up with for Lyle Pecante, small time drug dealer with dreams of making it big time.

He leads Jason out of the bar with an arm around his shoulder, Jason tucked up against him until they get outside and Bruce drags him into one of the side alleys, stares at a couple of bums until they almost piss their pants trying to get away from him, pins Jason to the gritty, grimey wall with one hand to his chest, nothing but _Batman_ in his eyes.

“You could have ruined this entire mission,” he growls out and Jason’s knees wobble and he licks his lips. “You could have gotten _killed._ ”

“Yeah, but,” Jason says, his eyes blown wide like he’d actually been doing the drugs he’d pretending to be so high on. “Didn’t.”

Bruce growls and crushes his mouth against Jason’s and it’s bruising and unforgiving and everything Jason’s been wanting and waiting for all _fucking_ night. He bites back at Bruce’s mouth, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and Bruce makes another rough, dark sound, buries his hand in Jason’s hair and pulls his head back. 

“No,” he says, breathing raggedly.

Jason’s brain tries to catch up, tries to do anything. “N-no?”

“Not like this,” Bruce says and he’s come down a little bit now, less Batman in his eyes and Lyle Pecante on his face and more Bruce -- Jason’s Bruce, soft eyes and steady hands and strong everything. “Not -- not in these clothes, not in some dirty alley like --”

“Bruce,” Jason says, gets his hands around Bruce’s middle and tugs him forward, grinds against Bruce’s thigh. “Don’t matter.”

Bruce heaves out a heavy, ragged breath and lets Jason just use him.

“Don’t matter what you’re wearing, how you talk, what name people call you,” Jason says, slipping his hands under Bruce’s shirt, flattening his palms out over a roadmap of scars. “I always see you.”

“Jay,” Bruce breathes out, tips forward and presses his forehead against Jason’s, closes his eyes. “You were driving me crazy in there.”

“Ditto,” Jason laughs. “I wanted --”

He stops. Bruce -- Bruce probably doesn’t need to hear all of his crazy fucked up fantasies. 

“What?” Bruce asks, dragging his nose down the column of Jason’s throat, stopping to suck a bruise into his skin. “What did you want, Jay?”

“Wanted you to fuck me,” Jason says and feels the stuttery gasp Bruce makes against his skin. “Wanted you to lay me out and fuck me right there, right in front of all those scumbags. Wanted --” he gasps, riding Bruce’s thigh now like he’s riding _him_ , clutching at Bruce’s shoulders, digging his nails into his chest. “Wanted everyone to _see_ , B. God, wanted them to see what you _do_ to me.”

“God, Jay,” Bruce shakes against him. “Let me --”

“Yeah, yes,” Jason says. “Fuck, anything.”

“You shouldn’t,” Bruce says darkly, but also hot as fuck. “Shouldn’t say that to me.”

“It’s true,” Jason says, staring him in the eye. “It’s true all the time, everyday. All you have to do is say the word, B. That’s how it’s always been and you --”

“Jason,” Bruce says sharply, like he can’t fucking bear to hear anymore, then Jason’s opening up for him because Bruce is pushing his fingers into his mouth for him to suck on while he yanks Jason’s pants open with his other hand and Jason -- Jason gets the picture. He knows where this is going and god, thank _fuck._ He sucks on Bruce’s fingers, goes down on them all the way past the knuckle, slobbers on them and gets them good and wet even as he’s working Bruce’s jeans open.

Bruce kisses him once, then grabs his hips and turns him around, kissing the back of Jason’s neck as he spreads him open with his fingers. The brick is disgusting, layers and layers of caked on filth and grime and Bruce is fucking him with his fingers in this alley that smells like piss and garbage and it’s perfect, so _fucking_ perfect. 

“I’m good, I’m good. Come on --” Jason says, his voice shaking with need, and braces himself against the filthy wall when he feels the head of Bruce’s cock press against him, bites his lip when Bruce grips his hips and pushes into him, choking on a moan. 

It’s good -- fuck, it’s always good, but somehow, in this dirty alley with Bruce pounding into him from behind, Jason’s ratty jeans puddled around his ankles and a couple of fake tattoos up and down his arms, somehow it’s almost _better._

Because it’s them. 

It’s them when they’re in hundred dollar Italian suits and it’s them when Bruce is covered in masks and kevlar and it’s them now, Jason dressed up like the kid he was supposed to grow up as. 

Jason comes with Bruce buried so deep inside of him he feels like he’s going to burst, comes with his hand around his dick and Bruce’s name falling from his mouth in a choked-off sob and Bruce follows him right over that edge, burying his face in the crook of Jason’s neck, whispering _I love you, I love you,_ as his cock pulses inside of him, as his come drips down Jason’s thighs. 

They get their pants back up as soon as Bruce pulls out of him, Jason’s thighs a sticky mess until they get home, and Bruce kisses Jason soft and tender, holds his face in one hand and just licks into his mouth, sucks on his tongue until he pulls away and Jason looks in his eyes and Bruce is gone, suddenly replaced by Batman. 

“You disobeyed my direct order,” he says. “You went completely off script. You were foolish, _arrogant_ , and everything I’ve been working on could have been for nothing because you couldn’t simply do as you were told and wait --”

“We,” Jason interrupts, way too fucked out to be giving a shit about Bruce’s lectures right now, still slumped against the wall, wondering if there’s somehow he could nap like this while Bruce yells at him. 

“What?” Bruce asks sharply. 

“What _we’ve_ been working on,” Jason says, poking Bruce in the chest like he’s not afraid of him. He’s not, never has been. That’s exactly why he drives Bruce so crazy, in all the ways that count. “Partners, remember?”

Bruce lets out a long, heavy sigh. “You’re a menace,” he grumbles and Jason just grins, makes a kissy face at him.

“You know it,” he says. “Now can we get something to eat? I’m fucking _starving._ ”


End file.
